


Sweet treats for sweethearts

by everythingremainsconnected



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 11:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13340661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingremainsconnected/pseuds/everythingremainsconnected
Summary: Panto needs Silas's help to win a bet, but could win so much more than he bargained for...





	Sweet treats for sweethearts

Silas would know that pink hair anywhere. His heart stopped, as did his hands, which was rather unfortunate for the tray of cakes he was balancing. Gravity worked against him and the tray began to wobble. Only his mother’s harsh admonishment, as if she did any other kind, brought Silas back to the moment.

“The _cakes_ Silas, do you mind?” 

“Sorry Mum,” Silas looked away from imperturbable Panto with scant seconds to spare. Cakes were saved, Frija’s temper was somewhat soothed, and Silas didn’t utterly humiliate himself in front of the most handsome man he’d ever set eyes on. 

“As I was saying,” Frija forced a smile and turned back to her customer, “your order is here, in full, and I think your wife will be _most_ impressed.” 

Panto approached the counter, an easy grin on his face, and took his time perusing the cabinets. Silas did his best to actually be busy; the more he thought about just how close Panto was to the counter, the more his hands started to sweat. Silas tidied cake displays and neatened boxes and really, really wished he wasn’t so painfully aware of the flour on his shirt and the grime across his apron. 

“Excuse me,” Panto said quietly. 

Silas _didn’t_ flinch. Mostly. He did grin though, hugely; he couldn’t help it. “Yes! Hello. Hi. Can I help you?” 

“Yes, thank you. How much for a dozen of the tartlets?” 

“You want to buy how many?” 

“A dozen,” Panto repeated with a smile. “Try as I might I cannot get a citrus curd to do my bidding-” 

“And you’ve come to steal our recipe, have you?” Frija interrupted. “Think again. Trosts are not welcome here.” 

“Not at all, Mrs Dengdamor,” Panto smiled politely. “I simply wish to enjoy a citrus tart without the bitter taste of my own failure.” 

“Not from here - oh what _now?_ ” Frija turned to look at the kitchen doors, from behind which a truly alarming series of alarms was blaring. “That’ll be the cursed washer again. Silas, see this gentleman out.” Frija ordered before rushing from the shop floor through the kitchen doors. The shop floor was suddenly entirely empty of customers, save one pink-haired competitor. 

“I’m sorry about Mum,” Silas tried. He was fairly certain his cheeks were aflame with embarrassment and he definitely wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. 

Panto merely smiled. “Don’t fret, my Dad is much the same. Quite stuck in their ways, I suppose.” 

“I suppose.” 

“Sorry to have bothered you.” Panto ducked his head and made to leave the shop. 

Silas couldn’t have stopped himself for anything. “Panto, wait.” He left the safety of the counter and caught Panto by the door. “You truly want to buy the tartlets - and not to steal our recipe?” 

“I am not my father,” Panto said, clearly offended, before sighing. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Anything.” 

“I made a bet with my sister that I could perfect a citrus tart in time for her birthday this weekend. I failed, curd clearly not being a gift I possess, and did not wish to lose the bet.” 

“And how were you planning on removing the Dengdamor insignia from the top of the tart?” 

“Muddying the top and sprinkling icing sugar across it?” 

“Too much icing sugar will ruin the flavour,” Silas pointed out. “Even your _subterfuge_ at citrus tarts lacks talent.” At that, Panto laughed and Silas smiled in return. 

“I am cursed, it seems.” 

“What were the terms of the bet?” 

“If I won, she would work all my Saturday shifts at the shop for the next six months. If _she_ won, I’d work hers. A new club has opened on Friday nights and I’d quite like to go without having to be up at four a.m. for work the next day.” 

Silas immediately thought of the new gay bar that hosted Friday night events and didn’t quite stop his eyebrows from rising slightly. “Oh.” 

“It was not to be.” Panto shrugged and turned to go. 

“Wait.” Silas reached for Panto’s arm as his mind worked in overdrive. “I can’t sell you the tarts or Mum will know, but,” he swallowed hard, “I can try and teach you how to make them. If you like.” 

“In three days?” 

“I’ve been making them since I was a kid. If I can’t teach you, then you truly _are_ cursed.” 

“You would do that for me? The son of your mother’s arch-nemesis?” 

Silas panicked and let go of Panto. “Cinderella got to go to the ball, why not you?” 

“If you can help me with these ridiculous tarts, then you shall indeed be a rescuing prince,” Panto grinned. 

A commotion from the kitchen brought Silas’s overfull heart back to earth at breakneck speed. If his mum saw him… “I’m closing the shop tonight. Meet me at the loading dock at six.” 

There was a long moment that Panto spent gazing at Silas, a confused but warm smile on his face. “I’ll see you at six.” 

Silas grinned, very aware he probably looked like a complete fool but unable to stop himself. His plan to watch Panto stride down the busy street, and hopefully admire the view, was disrupted by Frija storming back into the shop. Silas flinched away from the window front and busied himself with the nearest display. 

The afternoon positively dragged. Frija finally left Silas to close up the shop and he rushed through the routine. He had a total of fifteen minutes to prepare the kitchen - and himself. With mild cursing Silas rushed to the bathroom and washed the day’s grime from his hands and brushed the worst of the flour from his clothes. He replaced the dirty apron with a clean one and rushed to the back dock. 

Silas opened the back door and saw Panto approaching. He wore his own smirched apron over his clothes and had smears of icing across his exposed forearms. When he saw Silas, Panto smiled and raised a hand in a little wave. 

“You made it,” Silas greeted. He was just a little breathless but it was definitely from all the rushing, not the visage of beauty before him. 

“I’m so sorry, I had to run most of the way here,” Panto smiled. He was indeed a little short on oxygen. “I swear Litzi knows something is afoot.” 

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” Silas stared for a second until he remembered there was baking to be done. “Come in, come in.” Silas opened the door and ushered Panto inside and through to the kitchen. 

“Thank you for this,” Panto said. 

“Don’t thank me yet. Citrus tarts are not for the faint-hearted.” 

Panto scoffed. “No wonder Litzi made the bet.” 

“Tell me,” Silas began, arranging ingredients on a workbench. “Where exactly does your trouble with citrus tart begin?” 

“Well, it was a sunny Monday afternoon-” 

Silas laughed. “Perhaps skip to the bit where you can’t make curd? Actually, scratch that, the Trost crust isn’t going to support a curd properly.” 

“What are you trying to say?” 

“I’ve tried the Trost bakery crust, and, well,” Silas smiled a little. “Professionally? Stick to pastry.” 

Panto laughed. “Very well, I suppose we’d better start with the crust.” 

The sound of Panto’s laugh warmed Silas right through and he was glad of the dark beard that covered his blush. “Start with cookie crumbs.” 

“What sort do you use?” 

“Dengdamor cookies, and you’re certainly not getting the recipe for that.” 

“I’m not getting the recipe for the tart, either,” Panto shot back with a smile. 

Silas couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Very true. I’ve always thought your crust was a tad dry? You might want to add a little more butter.” 

“My crust?” Panto laughed. “I think you mean my father’s. I’m much more interested in confectionary.” 

“Confectionary?” 

“Like chocolates and little sweets, you know?” 

“Let me get this right,” Silas tried, “you can make chocolates but you can’t manage citrus curd?” 

“I told you. I’m cursed.” 

Silas laughed and prepared a tart crust like he’d done a million times before, talking Panto through each step, his voice and hands steady in spite of his wildly beating heart. “See how it sticks without being gluggy?” 

Panto inched closer to the bowl in Silas’s hands. “I see.” 

“Consistency is key. You don’t want lumps of cookie or butter in there.” 

“Of course not.” 

“Can I trust you to press this into a tray?” 

“I’m no apprentice,” Panto reminded Silas with a smile. “I can make a crust.” 

“Didn’t we just prove that actually you can’t?” 

Panto laughed. “Very well. From a technical standpoint, I can fill a pie tray.” 

“Get to it, and I’ll start on the filling.” Silas organised the next round of ingredients. “How much lemon juice were you using?” 

“I followed the recipe, I just don’t have the touch for it, you know?” 

Silas blushed again. Panto almost definitely wasn’t making everything a double entendre and Silas was almost certainly reading way too much into the situation. “Let’s make sure.” 

Panto smiled as he pressed the mixture into the pan. Silas walked him through every single step with painstaking patience, from adjusting his grip on the zester (an incredibly thin excuse to touch him) to demonstrating the best way to keep the bowl over the heat. 

“So, did you always want to be a baker?” Panto asked. 

“Uh, I guess,” Silas shrugged. “It’s as good a job as any.” 

“But do you like it?” 

“I suppose. Do you? Like being a baker?” 

Panto faltered in his stirring of the curd. “I suppose. Perhaps it might be nicer if my father were less…” 

“Frightening?” 

“I was going to say ‘militant’ but that works too.” 

“A militant baker?” 

Panto half-smiled. “He’s more than a bit set in his ways. I want to try branching out of pastries and baked goods-” 

“Into chocolates, perhaps?” 

“Exactly!” Panto grinned. “But Dad’s not at all interested. At all. No creativity allowed, it seems.” 

“Mum isn’t much better,” Silas confided. “She’s so… resistant. I thought maybe a coffee machine would bring in more business, and we could have a proper little cafe, but she just won’t listen.” 

“But that’s a great idea,” Panto argued. “There’s not a coffee shop around here for at least 2 blocks in every direction.” 

“I know! That’s what I keep saying,” Silas laughed and Panto joined him. “Take this off the heat, quick. Pass me the butter.” 

Panto rushed to follow orders and Silas knifed the butter into the warm mix, stirring carefully, before pouring it into the crust. “Now what?” 

“Now,” Silas smiled, evening the mixture, “we chill for at least eight hours.” 

“Chill?” 

“The whole thing has to be in the fridge, but not too cold. Maybe that was your problem?” 

“Maybe. It’s hard to say. So what do we do with this one?” Panto looked at the pan. 

Silas thought quickly. “Do you get a lunch break?” 

Panto smiled. 

*

“I can’t believe we had to walk two blocks for coffee.” 

Silas laughed. “I know! And it’s not even great.” He sat beside Panto on the park bench, setting the cake box between them. 

“I feel a bit like we’re in some sort of covert operation here,” Panto confided. “Meeting in secret in a park away from our families?” 

“All for the sake of a citrus tart.” 

“I’m not all that convinced that it’s worth it, but now my _pride_ is at stake.” 

While Silas was glad of the circumstance he couldn’t help but be wistful. Something must have shown on his face even as he laughed along with Panto. 

“Is everything ok?” Panto asked, ever the picture of gentlemanly concern. 

“Of course.” 

Panto leaned closer on the bench, his elbow braced on the back. “Look, I’m sorry, this was all a bit… silly, in retrospect, putting you to all this trouble just to win a silly bet.” 

“Not at all! Well,” Silas backed away from righteous indignation and smiled. “Perhaps a little?” 

“I really appreciate all the trouble,” Panto insisted. “To come all this way for some truly average coffee to deliver a cake? What did you tell your mum, by the way?” 

Silas cleared his throat and studied the top of his plastic coffee cup. “I said it was a special delivery on my way to lunch. Not exactly a lie.” 

“Not quite the truth, either.” 

“I didn’t want to be late, and I rather suspect that being murdered by one’s own mother puts a bit of a dampener on one’s punctuality.” 

Panto laughed, his eyes lighting up. “A very good point.” 

“What did you tell your dad?” 

“Ah.” Panto looked down. “Some flimsy excuse. He wasn’t really listening so I left before he could ask for details. So how does the tart look?” 

Silas gave Panto a slightly confused smile before setting down his coffee. “Let’s find out. I brought cutlery.” He undid the string tie around the box and lifted the lid. The creamy yellow tart was safely ensconced and the faintest hint of icing sugar dusted the top. 

“It looks amazing,” Panto grinned. “Half of mine didn’t even set properly.” 

“Let’s hope the flavour lives up to the first impression.” Silas took a knife to the tart and carefully sliced out a thin wedge. Napkin in hand, Silas levered the wedge onto the paper and handed it to Panto. His hand only trembled a little. 

“May I?” 

“Please.” Silas nodded. 

With a nervous breath, Panto lifted the slice to his lips and took a cautious bite. He closed his eyes and emitted a very small moan. 

Silas nearly fainted. 

“This is amazing!” Panto talked around the food in his mouth. “Phenomenal! Silas, you are a gifted baker. Try it!” 

Cheeks well and truly burning, Silas helped himself to a sample. With relief he found that Panto wasn’t exaggerating; the flavour profile was perfect and the zing of the citrus was perfectly complemented by the crust. 

“You were right about the Trost crust recipe,” Panto conceded easily. He swallowed another bite and his eyes closed in pleasure. 

Silas drank in Panto’s every movement and barely remembered to blink. “Thank you.” 

“It is I who should be thanking you. You did all the work.” 

“You helped!” Silas met Panto’s eyes and they both laughed. “You certainly zested like a champion, and your stirring abilities are very almost unparalleled.” The warmth in Panto’s gorgeous eyes gave Silas an unexpected jolt of courage and he seized it in both hands. “Perhaps you would like to try again?” 

Panto grinned, caught off guard. “Are you serious?” 

“You want to win the bet, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Panto looked away. “I suppose I do.” 

“Tonight? I’ll be alone at the bakery after six.” 

“Tonight, then.” 

Silas was happily stunned and recovered after a second or two of internal freaking out. “I’d best get back before Mum asks too many questions.” 

“Yes, of course,” Panto fidgeted and Silas watched him, somewhat bemused. 

“Keep the tart. Make Litzi nervous about that bet,” Silas prompted. Panto merely nodded and Silas couldn’t quite pin down the expression on his face. “I’ll see you tonight.” He abandoned the tart and handsome man on the bench and hurried back to the bakery, heart pounding and head swimming, overanalyzing the hell out of Panto’s every movement. 

*

Silas didn’t particularly believe in miracles, but he couldn’t argue with whatever divine presence had helped him through a second evening of secret baking without any major faux pas to show for it. Panto was following exacting instructions and going through the recipe unaided, with occasional exception if Silas deemed the whisk too vigorous or the water too hot. Consciously, Silas knew small helpful touches weren’t required for baking, but in the back of his mind he hoped that perhaps Panto would see him, really _see him_ , and… something magical might happen. Probably not, almost definitely not, but Silas couldn’t quash his hope. He tried not to treasure every glance and smile from Panto as they cooked together, but Silas was a lost cause. 

Watching Panto pour the mixture into the case, Silas smiled. “Don’t forget to taste the mix. Make sure all the flavours are there.” 

“It’s a bit late if they’re not, isn’t it?” 

“Not the point. Taste it,” Silas insisted, nudging Panto lightly. 

Panto scraped most of the mix into the case before running a fine spatula along one edge. Delicately licking the goop from the spatula, he paused thoughtfully. “I think it’s ok, but really, _you’re_ the professional here.” He held the bowl out to Silas and raised an eyebrow questioningly. 

“You’re going to have to trust yourself at some point.” 

“I trust you,” Panto said softly. He collected more mixture on the spatula and held it out for Silas. The distance between them was quite small and Panto’s gaze was incredibly warm as he held Silas’s rapt attention. 

Eyes wide and heart racing, Silas leaned in and carefully licked the edge of the spatula. To say he was keenly aware of Panto’s eyes on him would have been a masterclass in understatement; Silas was practically aflame. If offered a million dollars to describe the curd he had just eaten, Silas would have walked away a poor man, having no memory whatsoever of the flavour that had just passed his lips. 

Panto slowly set the bowl and spatula aside but stayed overly close to Silas. “Today, when we met for lunch, I told my father I had a date.” 

“A what?” 

A shadow passed over Panto’s face. “I told him I had a date, because I wanted it to be one. For a little while I got to pretend.” 

Silas found that his ears and his brain were struggling to combine information and make any sense of what was happening. “What?” 

“I’m sorry, I should go,” Panto moved away and Silas followed before either man could blink. 

“Go where?” 

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-” 

“You didn’t,” Silas said quickly. “I’m just in shock.” 

Panto was appalled. “I really should go.” 

“No!” Silas half-reached for Panto. “Don’t leave. You’re just… a date? With _me?_ ” 

“With you, yes. Well, I didn’t tell Dad it was with you, but I wanted it to be. With you.” 

Silas almost laughed. “Since when are you this inarticulate?” 

“When the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen is looking at me like I’m a big dork it’s hard to uh… to play it cool.” 

“What?” Silas whispered. 

Panto slowly closed the gap between them, standing so close to Silas that he could feel the heat radiating from Silas’s body. Deciding that words weren’t about to help him anytime soon, Panto leaned in further still, carefully pressing his lips against Silas’s. The effect was immediate; Panto made the tiniest gasp as tingling fire raced over his body. He reached his arms around Silas and couldn’t help another sharp intake of breath as Silas melted into him. 

The hint of citrus on Panto’s tongue was a deliciously tart contrast to the warmth of him, and Silas braced his hands on Panto’s chest as the kiss became more seriously involved. Silas could barely breathe and didn’t care if this was exactly how he died; found in the arms of a gorgeous pink-haired man was at least a memorable way to go. He’d spent far too long fantasizing about Panto’s mouth against his and what those broad shoulders, among other things, would feel like under his hands, and Silas didn’t bother to hide the little moan that rose up his throat. He stroked one hand up Panto’s chest and into the soft hair at the nape of Panto’s neck, fully intent on holding on forever. 

A loud clang broke the pair apart. 

“Did you hear that?” Panto asked. He held Silas protectively as he quickly glanced around the kitchen. 

Silas nodded. “No one is ever here this late except me. It must have been something outside.” 

“Is it safe for you to be out alone at this time of night? Perhaps,” Panto smiled coyly, “I should walk you home?” 

Wygar stomped into the kitchen, face like a thundercloud, thoroughly raining on the mood. “That won’t be necessary.” 

The pair sprang apart guiltily and Silas gaped. “What on earth are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” Wygar glared furiously at them both before fixing his frightening gaze on Panto. “You should go.” 

Panto froze. All he wanted to do was hold Silas in his arms but worried about Wygar snapping his arms in two. Wygar was an old-fashioned baker with muscles bigger than tree trunks; Panto wisely assessed the situation and made a quick decision. He backed away from Silas, making sure that Wygar couldn’t see his face, and mouthed ‘Tomorrow’. To his unending relief, Silas gave the slightest nod. Without further word, Panto left. 

“Wygar, what is going on? What are you doing here?” 

“You dare ask me this?” Wygar shouted. “You dare! After I find you doing _this?_ ” 

“I wasn’t _doing_ anything!” Silas protested, much as he desperately wished otherwise. 

“I saw you! I dropped a saucepan out there to save you some dignity, if you have any at all. The Trost boy, Silas? Of everyone, a _Trost?_ ” 

“So what? We’re just - people! Who might somehow like each other! What does it matter?” 

“It would break your mother’s heart. You know this.” 

“What about _my_ heart?” Silas shouted. “Don’t I get to be happy? I’ve done everything Mum ever wanted. I learned to cook and bake for her, I help her run this place, I’m here fifteen hours a day, six days a week. Can I have anything that is _mine?_ ” 

“He is a Trost! They are thieves and schemers, looking for our weakest points for their own advantage.” 

“What advantage is there to - to kissing me?” Silas’s stomach was full of butterflies. _Panto kissed me! Please don’t let this be a dream._

“There is some trickery at work here, Silas, it is all the Trosts know how to do.” 

“Stop it! Perhaps there is actually a chance that he _likes_ me? Please, Wygar, just let me have this moment. Please.” 

Wygar growled. “This cannot happen again. You and the Trost boy? Impossible. Stay away from him, Silas. He will only hurt you.” 

“Just stop,” Silas said tiredly. 

Shaking his head, radiating disappointment, Wygar left. 

Silas carefully hid the citrus tart in the chill fridge. He ran his finger along the edge of the curd mixing bowl and licked the tangy goop. As the flavour zinged across his tongue, Silas wondered if he’d ever be able to eat citrus tart again without thinking of Panto. 

*

The following morning saw Panto moving through life in a daze. Every other minute he paused whatever task he’d been midway through to remember _Silas_ , and every time he thought the name he sighed. _Silas_ , with his beautiful eyes and generous smile that always made Panto’s heart race. Lovely and wonderful _Silas_ , who had very warm hands indeed. Panto yearned to call Silas his own. Weeks and weeks of pining and gorgeous Silas seemed, somehow, by some miracle, to feel the same way? Panto sighed for the hundredth time. 

Litzibitz rolled her eyes at her brother as she tried to cover his uselessly romantic ass. 

The very moment the Trost bakery clock said lunch time, Panto was striding out the door. He went straight to the little park he and Silas had been to the day before, his bubbling nerves, hope and fear mixing together into a nauseating cocktail. 

Rounding the corner, Panto saw Silas sitting on a bench. Letting out a relieved sigh, Panto headed for Silas, smiling warmly. He remembered their kiss, or kisses, for the millionth time that day, and was very nearly consumed with the desire to do it again. 

“Silas,” Panto greeted. The confidence and happiness was knocked from him when he finally saw Silas’s face; his usually sunny visage was clouded. Panto’s heart plummeted. “What’s wrong?” 

“Hi.” Silas looked down. “Hi, Panto.” 

Swallowing tears, Panto sat close beside Silas, too afraid to touch him but couldn’t live with being too far away. “What’s the matter? You don’t seem yourself.” 

“I’m not. Or maybe I am too much myself, and that’s the problem.” 

“There could never be too much of you,” Panto said earnestly. 

Silas couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. For a moment he was light and basked in the warmth of Panto’s wonderful gaze fixed on him. The moment passed all too soon and Silas sighed. “What do we do, Panto?” 

“In what context? In public there’s only so much-” 

Silas laughed and leaned into Panto. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“It was worth it to see you smile.” 

“Wygar was furious last night. He’s agreed not to tell Mum but,” Silas looked so miserable. “He told me I can’t ever see you again.” 

Panto’s heart stopped in his chest and he couldn’t mask his misery. “But why?” 

“This stupid feud between our parents,” Silas sighed. “He says all the Trosts do is cheat and I know full well your father holds similar opinions about my mother. Whatever they did or didn’t do before you or I were even born shouldn’t be able to hurt us like this. It isn’t fair!” 

“I know,” Panto said softly, “I can’t help the way I feel.” 

“And what way might that be?” 

Panto’s elegance failed him once again and he stammered for a moment. “A lot?” 

“You feel a lot?” 

“I like you a lot,” Panto corrected with a laugh. “Kissing you was the most terrifying and wonderful moment of my life so far.” 

“Terrifying?” 

“I had no idea you might feel the same.” Panto gulped. “Do you?” 

Silas grinned. “I don’t kiss just anyone like that.” 

With a relieved smile, Panto leaned in close. He kissed Silas softly for a brief, electrifying moment before sitting back, his cheeks a subtle shade of pink. 

“But what do we do about our families?” Silas asked quietly. 

“I won’t lose you.” 

“And I don’t want to lose you, so where does that leave us?” 

Panto set his shoulders. “It leaves us with no choice but to keep them ignorant of the situation.” 

“You mean lie to them? You can’t be serious.” 

“Deadly serious. Besides, if you help me win this bet with Litzi, I’ll have Friday nights free for six months.” 

Silas rolled his eyes with a smile. “I brought the tart you made. Do you want to try it?” 

“What if it’s awful?” 

“What if it’s brilliant?” Silas retorted. “I won’t have any excuse to see you.” 

“I’ll still need to make the final one for Litzi.” 

“But what if Wygar catches us again?” 

Panto smiled slowly. “Are you blushing?” 

“What? No? I don’t blush, what are you talking about? No?” 

“You are!” 

“Am not!” Silas laughed. “Alright, maybe a bit, but you would too if the man who practically raised you caught you like… we were.” 

Panto inched even closer until his thigh was pressed against Silas’s. “Like we were?” 

“There was something about a kiss, I’m sure of it,” Silas flirted. To his utter delight, the attempt at flirting made colour rise on Panto’s handsome cheekbones. “Panto, I do believe you’re blushing.” 

Panto didn’t bother answering. He leaned his arm across the bench behind Silas and kissed him again, barely keeping his hands to himself. Silas had no such plans and immediately cupped Panto’s cheek. The heat of Silas against him had Panto breathing harshly, not to mention the excitement of such a beautiful man enthusiastically returning his affections... it was all Panto could do to keep from moaning on a park bench at lunchtime. 

Using the last of his coherent brain cells, Panto broke away from the kiss, but couldn’t let go of Silas. “Perhaps we should,” Panto paused, distracted by the decidedly wicked glint in Silas’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should take a moment.” 

“A moment? If all you need is a moment, perhaps I need to up my game,” Silas said softly, bringing his lips dangerously close to Panto’s. 

“ _Silas_ ,” Panto sighed against his mouth. “I thought having a crush on you was bad enough but this teasing? I’m not sure if I can bear it.” 

Silas laughed as his thumb traced along Panto’s cheek. “I’m not going to pretend to be sorry.” 

With a quick grin Panto took Silas’s hand in his and kissed it. “I would rather like to find out if I _could_ bear it.” 

“Perhaps if you can manage a half-decent citrus tart, you might find out?” 

“And how am I supposed to concentrate on a ridiculous foodstuff with you right beside me?” Panto challenged. “Will you come to my bakery tonight? We can definitely avoid Wygar there.” 

“What about your father? Or sister?” 

“Litzi won’t fight me if I offer to close up, and Dad will have gone home by then. What do you say?” 

“Yes,” Silas replied immediately. 

Panto laughed kindly. “That seemed like a tough choice.” 

“I don’t think I can stay away from you.” 

“Is that so?” 

Silas searched Panto’s face and smiled. “You… you seem to like me.” 

“Seem to? I have given a poor impression indeed,” Panto laughed. 

“I had thought this impossible for so long and now I find you here.” Silas looked down at their bodies as close together as physically and decently possible in public. He was afraid to think of how much _more_ he wanted, just in case his desire was stamped onto his forehead. “I find you here, wanting to kiss me, and I think, how? How am I so lucky, Panto?” 

“I’m the lucky one,” Panto insisted. “You are miles out of my league! I was rather hoping you wouldn’t notice.” 

“What are you talking about? Your cheekbones are to die for.” 

Panto’s cheekbones flushed pink once again. “Your eyes are the most beautiful, rich brown I have ever seen, and I rather suspect there are gold flecks in there for me to find. Can I spend a ridiculous amount of time staring at you to find out?” 

“There’s the Panto charm,” Silas laughed as warm pleasure filled his heart. 

“Panto charm?” 

“I’ve seen you flirt with your customers,” Silas admitted. “I always wondered what it would be to be the subject of your attentions. Daydreamed about it, even.” 

“You daydreamed about me?” 

“Maybe.” 

Panto faltered. “You did?” He whispered. Self-control flew right out the window almost as fast as he kissed Silas. After several heart-pounding moments he pulled back, still flustered. “I’m sorry, I just... You - the most handsome man I’ve ever seen - you daydream about me? No one has ever said such wonderful things about me before.” 

“I guarantee I’m not the only person alive who thinks you’re handsome.” 

“But you’re the only one I want to think well of me.” 

Silas saw the sincerity on Panto’s face and leaned in for a brief kiss. “You handsome, silly man.” Silas licked his lip and moved toward Panto again, but was halted by a dinging in his pocket. 

“Should you check that?” 

“It can wait,” Silas whispered. He kissed Panto softly, enjoying the sensation of Panto’s mouth moving slowly against his, and could have quite happily stayed there forever. His phone dinged again and Panto pulled away. 

“You should check that.” 

“Fine.” Silas dug around in his pocket, totally reluctant to move away from Panto’s embrace. A series of short texts from his mum filled the screen. His stomach dropped. “Oh shit. It’s Mum.” Silas went through the messages and his eyes widened. “Oh _shit_. She’s out looking for me. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” 

“Of course.” Panto let Silas go even though it caused him almost physical pain. 

“Try the tart. I’ll see you tonight?” 

“At six,” Panto nodded. 

Silas leaned in quickly for one last dangerous kiss. “Bye.” He dashed off, putting as much distance between himself and the park as possible, hating every step that took him away from Panto. 

Panto watched him go, enjoying the lingering taste of Silas on his lips. He opened the cake box Silas had left behind and cut out a piece to try. It was delicious, and Panto wished he had Silas’s number to text him and let him know the good news. He might win after all. 

*

Of course Silas was familiar with the Trost bakery, or as his mother so flatteringly called it, the Home of Liars. It was a few blocks away from the Dengdamors, not quite near enough to be direct competition but close enough for Frija to consider it a problem. Trost Creations was homely and had genuine warmth, and Silas envied their personal touches to the building that created such an inviting space. 

At six p.m. the shop front was dark, with just a few lights from the on-site kitchen peeking through the space. Silas paused at the windows, unsure of how to announce himself. A knock would never be heard across the shop and he had no idea where the back dock entry was, or if Trost Creations even had one. 

Before panic could truly set in, Silas caught a glimpse of movement. Panto emerged from the back-of-house area, wiping his hands on the apron around his waist. He saw Silas through the window and paused, a grin spreading across his face, before dashing to the front door and wrenching it open. 

“You came!” Panto pulled Silas inside and kissed him fiercely for long moments, still bewildered that he was so lucky. 

Silas eventually pulled away. “This probably isn’t helping the plan to avoid our parents?” 

“Of course, you’re right,” Panto smiled ruefully. “Come through.” He locked the shop door and took Silas’s hand to lead him through to the kitchen. “I’m sorry it’s not quite as spectacular as the Dengdamor kitchens.” 

“It’s wonderful,” Silas smiled, “and not just because you’re in it.” True, the appliances weren’t as new and the space wasn’t as generous as his own, but Silas saw the marks of hard work. 

“I tried a new cookie recipe over the last couple of days, after what you said about the crusts, and I think I might have found the right balance. What do you think?” Panto presented a plate piled high with cookies. 

Silas took one and bit into it. “Delicious! Almost as good as mine.” 

“Almost? What a compliment.” 

“I think it should probably suffice for your base.” 

Panto stood close to him and smiled very slightly. “Well, with your blessing,” he kissed Silas for a moment, “I shall begin.” Panto grinned and set about preparing the base. He worked very near to where Silas stood; so near, in fact, that Silas was able to rest his hand on Panto’s hip, or lower back, or even the nape of his neck. Every movement of Silas’s warm hand across the fabric of Panto’s shirt sent shivers down his spine and almost broke his concentration. 

The base set and finished, Silas bestowed a simple congratulatory kiss that very nearly became significantly more, until Panto nudged the case and the sound of it scraping along the bench disturbed them. Panto wanted nothing more than to be done with the ridiculous baking so he could devote his entire attention to Silas, but the dangling carrot of Friday nights off reminded him of the long-term goal. 

Silas talked Panto through the lemon curd, his light touches on Panto’s body driving him mad. One particularly lingering stroke down Panto’s spine sent a jolt through him and he was eternally glad the cursed curd was almost done. Silas wouldn’t let him hurry, patiently pouring the mixture into the case and making sure the chill fridge was the right temperature. As soon as Silas closed the fridge door, Panto was there, his intense gaze holding Silas still. 

With a wry smile, Panto reached up to cup Silas’s cheek. “You never asked how last night’s tart turned out.” 

“Because I knew it would be delicious.” 

“How?” 

“I had a hunch,” Silas smiled. 

“Any hunches about me winning this bet?” 

“I think if nothing else, the tart will be edible. Not to mention this entire exercise brought you into my shop.” 

Panto’s face broke into a smile. He kissed Silas tenderly, a hand going to Silas’s waist to hold him close. Silas responded eagerly, following Panto’s lead and pressing against him, giddy at the contact and the heat. There was no need to be mindful of watching eyes and Silas took full advantage of the privacy, sliding a hand down Panto’s back to squeeze his perfect bum. The little gasp Panto made against his mouth made Silas swoon. With no time at all to recover, Panto broke away from the kiss only to press his lips against Silas’s neck. 

“ _Panto_ ,” Silas gasped when teeth nibbled his neck. “Should we um... Maybe not a kitchen?” 

The wicked laugh from Panto made Silas’s knees wobble. “Perhaps not a kitchen.” Panto quit the neck-biting and caught Silas’s slight disappointment. “I live upstairs.” 

Silas stared up at Panto, stunned and nervous. “Is that an invitation?” 

“Yes.” 

Silas grinned. “Lead the way.” 

*

The following night, which happened to be Litzi’s birthday and the unveiling of the successful citrus tart and subsequent bet winning, Silas found himself in Panto’s bed. It was no mystery whatsoever how he’d ended up there, being delightfully vulnerable to Panto’s smile and kisses and more. Panto seemed just as defenseless against Silas’s own seduction attempts, a feat which made Silas incredibly proud and warm all over. 

Silas gazed at his lover, took a moment to have happy panicky butterflies because he actually _had_ a lover, and an incredibly wonderful one at that, and reached across the very small distance between them. He stroked his fingers down Panto’s back, tracing muscle ridges and freckles, smiling at his faint stirring. 

“Hey,” Panto whispered, rolling over with a smile. Pink hair flopped into his eyes and he brushed it back lazily. “Can’t you sleep?” 

Silas shook his head. “You’re too beautiful.” 

With a bashful smile, Panto shuffled closer to Silas to wrap arms around his waist. Tucking his face into Silas’s muscled shoulder, Panto sighed happily. “You spoil me.” 

“That’s the idea.” 

“Is it?” 

“I want to give you the world. A few compliments here and there hardly comes close to what you deserve.” 

“I know what else you could give me,” Panto said in a low voice. Shivers ran down Silas’s spine. 

“Oh?” 

Panto raised himself up on his elbows to look upon his lover. He grinned. “Beyond a repeat of the simply amazing events of slightly earlier this evening.” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“Well.” Panto placed a hand on Silas’s chest and absent-mindedly traced his fingers along Silas’s skin. “Having very recently attained a _very_ satisfying personal life...” Panto fixed his most outrageously flirtatious gaze on Silas and felt the quickening heartbeat against his hand. He bit his lip before continuing, “I wonder what it might be like to have a satisfying professional life as well?” 

“My darling, I don’t think we can have our cake and eat it too.” 

“I think I might know a way. You want a cafe, and I want to make confectionary. Or at least, I want the opportunity to try sweets beyond cake. What if,” Panto said slowly, his fingers still brushing against Silas, “we went into business together?” 

Silas stared. “We’ve only just fallen into _bed_ together. Is business a good idea?” 

“Hear me out. I’m not suggesting we get a shopfront or anything. Not yet. Maybe if we start small with a market? You can make coffees and a few cakes, and I’ll take care of the delicate sweets, and we’ll prove our parents wrong. And have an awful lot of fun while we do it.” 

“And how, exactly, do we hide _this_ ,” Silas glanced at the narrowing space between their bodies, “from our families? Oh, better yet, how are you going to hide _that?_ Sorry.” Silas brushed his fingers against a particularly purple bite made by his own teeth. The colour was really quite striking against Panto’s light skin. 

Panto laughed. “If we’re working together, planning-” 

“-Scheming-” 

“ _Planning_ ,” Panto repeated, still laughing, “then that will explain why we spend so much time together. Just think about it, my darling. All those long days, late nights,” Panto smiled very suggestively. 

“Late nights? We’re bakers, Panto. We’ll both be unconscious before nine p.m.” 

“I’ll have you know it’s currently,” Panto glanced at the clock on his nightstand and wilted. “Fine, it’s currently eight forty-five and you woke me up. But still, there’s long days to be had together.” 

Silas laughed at his sleepy lover and pulled him in for a kiss. “Very well, my darling. Let’s start with a market.”

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I didn't mean for there to be so much of this but oh well, here we are. Inspired by [this gorgeous picture](https://www.instagram.com/p/BcNlkcSgXcE/?taken-by=leemajdoub) and written for [Pantlas appreciation week!](https://pantlasappreciationweek.tumblr.com/post/168699919573/welcome-to-pantlas-appreciation-week-it-will-be) I'm on [tumblr](https://everythingremainsconnected.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/itssopunk) if you want to say hi ♡


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